Masks
by The Spiffinator
Summary: A oneshot about Lily and James, and how what they show the outside world is all just a mask. Angsty and fluffy in one!


Phew. Depressing. My take on how James and Lily came to become the famous couple that they are. This fic takes place in 7th year. If you like, please review! )

* * *

_How to lie to yourself and thereby to everyone else  
How to keep smiling when you're thinking of killing yourself  
How to numb a la holic to avoid going within  
How to stay stuck in blue by blaming them for everything_

-Alanis Morissette, "_Eight Easy Steps_"

* * *

He was there. But he wasn't himself.

His name was still James Potter. But he was not James Potter.

He was not the James Potter that all the girls adored. He was not the James Potter with the dazzling smile and the cocky charm. He could certainly play that part, and each morning when he left his dormitory, the change was so drastic that the picture that came to mind was an actor putting on his mask.

This was, of course, precisely what he did every day. He was an actor. Was he confident? Sure he was. Was he charming? Yes, he was charming too. But why does the actor bother to act?

He had learned from an early age. He had watched other boys in the neighborhood, older boys. He saw how they acted towards girls. They always knew just what to say to get just what they wanted, and he watched them. He watched the boys that did not put on that charming face, that blissful ignorance. He watched the boys who did not use fake, kind words get shot down. He did not see the latter group of boys finally find a redemption that was far greater than anything the former group could have achieved. He was too busy watching the beauty and glamour that the confident, charming boys seemed to be surrounded by, and he wanted it.

He wanted to be just like them. He figured out how to decipher the signs a woman would give, how to say just the right thing at exactly the right time, and how to make his target declare her undying love for him

But that wasn't how he really was. Each time he assumed this mask of splendor, a voice at the back of his head would insist that he was in the wrong. Each time it dared to speak, he would force it back down.

The more he graced the world with his magnificent mask, however, the stronger the voice got, until he could not force it down any longer. That was his position on this silent, starry night, alone in the Gryffindor common room.

The voice won a small victory that night. He was no longer lying to himself. He realized that it was a mask that he used to charm others, whether they be friends or love interests. The voice supposed that this was a small victory. It had won the battle, but it had not yet won the war.

* * *

_I want to be the minority  
I don't need your authority  
Down with the moral majority  
'Cause I want to be the minority_

-Green Day, "_Minority_"

* * *

She wasn't herself, either.

She was still Lily Evans. But the perfect, brilliant, gorgeous Lily Evans had vanished. Tonight, she was Lily Evans, the ordinary.

She had seen the students at the school from a young age. She saw how the students who tried hard and studied went on to succeed, and make everyone proud. She saw, too, the students who showed apathy towards school, and she watched them drop out and fail in life, becoming that member of the family that no one wanted to mention at reunions. She failed to see the way that some apathetic students went on to succeed in other things than school, so caught up was she in the success of those who were dedicated.

The young girl vowed never to let herself become apathetic. She promised to try, to stick to the rules, to make her parents proud. This desire deeply intensified when she came to Hogwarts, and some resented her for her lineage, or lack thereof.

Whatever else she had had, the girl was possessed with a powerful fighting spirit. She was deeply determined to prove them wrong, to rise above their petty prejudices, and to force them to realize that what they said was wrong. Deep in her heart, she knew that she could never make everyone discard prejudices. She preferred not to listen to that part of her heart, however.

She treated her fighting spirit like a fair-weather friend, however. When it said something she wanted to inspire her, she would sing its praises—but other times, she would do all she could to pretend she could not hear it. The fighting spirit that made her want to prove the prejudiced wrong was the same fighting spirit that made her want to be carefree, and to live outside the strict confines of absolutely following authority. She silenced the strong voice, however, by lying to it. She cooed at it with persuasive words, telling it that by staying within the rules was like a nonviolent war against them and their horrors.

She realized long ago that she was lying to a voice inside her head, and she was truly pathetic.

* * *

_But when I look at the stars,  
when I look at the stars,  
when I look at the stars I see someone else  
When I look at the stars,  
the stars, I feel like myself_

-Switchfoot, "_Stars_"

* * *

The man who was not himself tonight was draped languorously across a comfortable couch that evening. He stared out the window at the stars, his back to the men's dormitories, his front to the women's. Pensively, he reflected about might happen if one of the giggling girls who adored him found him like this. Would he be able to slip his mask on fast enough?

Perhaps he would have been able to slip it on if it had been one of those who adored him. However, this was one of the few people who did not adore him. This was the woman who was not herself tonight.

She stepped down the stairs of her dormitory slowly, deliberately. A great cloud of steam rushed ahead of her, and that was what awakened the man to her presence. He sat up abruptly, but it was too late. She had seen him. Her emerald eyes were just as wide with shock as were his own hazel ones.

He did not look any different, physically, than he always did. His hair was still messy; he was still tall and athletic. However, it was his face that was different, and it was his face she'd happened to see. His hazel eyes were filled with a deep pain, and his mouth was not open for once; in a sarcastic remark, a great shout of laughter, or a wide grin. No, his mouth was closed as he stared at the sky, having finally admitted that he was fake. This was not the James Potter she was used to seeing.

She looked different physically, that was the first thing he noticed. Her auburn hair was always stick straight, showing off her strict following of the rules. However, the gorgeous hair, still wet from the shower, was now in that glamorously natural wavy look that other girls spent galleons trying to imitate. Her clothes were usually impeccable and uniform, but she was currently wearing a pair of men's pajama bottoms, that looked old, dirty, and enormous on her petite frame. For a blouse, she had a faded, holey sweatshirt. This was not the Lily Evans that he was used to seeing.

He noticed something, after quickly shaking his head. In a hoarse whisper, just barely loud enough for her to hear, he stuttered, "E—Evans? What are you doing here? And why in the name of Merlin are you so hot?" The usually overconfident man blushed. "That came out wrong…Well, you are hot, as in attractive, but I mea—"

"I know what you meant, Potter," she spat softly, as she finished her descent. When she drew nearer, he could see the pain that wracked her whole body. "Why? Because I was just in the shower. I always take scalding hot showers. I suppose you're going to want to know the reason for that, too."

She drew in a shaky breath as she admitted to her enemy what she'd never even told her dearest friends. "Bad things can't survive in hot water, Potter. If you heat it enough, it will go away. That's why you get a fever when you're ill; your body is trying to kill off the illness. That's why Pepperup Potions make your ears steam. That's why I get angry at you, Potter. I always thought that if I was scathing enough, you might go away."

He drew in a sharp, hurt gasp. She couldn't know how much that hurt him. He wanted to say something, wanted to prove her wrong, but he couldn't speak—he knew she wasn't done yet.

He moved his body to allow her a place to rest hers. She shot him a suspicious, yet grateful look as she slumped into the couch. "But bad things aren't the only thing that goes away when you heat them. If you heat anything enough, it will go away. I've…I've been heating my life up far too much. I'm lonely." With that, one lonely tear raced down her face. "I've always been mad at you because you embodied temptation. That same spirit that made me smack Severus when he called me a stupid mudblood in sixth year…That spirit wants more than the ordinary life of following the rules. It wants to be carefree and extraordinary, like you are." By this time, the first tear had been joined by many more.

The man suddenly pulled her into a rough embrace. Holding her to his chest, he spoke the words he hadn't even told the other Marauders, his closest friends. "Carefree? Extraordinary? Have you ever thought about how ironic those words really are? Carefree is made up of 'care' and 'free'. If I am carefree, then I am free of caring. But, the golden rule…'Do unto others as you wish others to do unto you.' No one really cares about me, either. They love me, but they don't know who I really am. Extraordinary…That's 'extra' and 'ordinary'. I think that speaks for itself. I really am extra-ordinary, Ev—no. Not Evans. Lily. If I'm going to ask you out like I do, then I've got to call you Lily."

The woman looked up in shock. He had just called her by her name. That was something she hadn't been expecting. He looked down at her pain-filled face, and spoke softly. "Lily, will you go out with me?" She smiled gently at him. "Yes, James, I suppose I will."

They went on wearing their masks. They just took them off for each other.

_fin_


End file.
